The First Step
by HecateA
Summary: Tom Riddle, unlike many of his classmates, was never interested in knowing his soulmate. But when he realizes that he'll need them to make his magic stronger, he's more than willing to start looking. Written for Romance Awareness Day 26: People stop aging at eighteen until they meet their soulmate.


**Author's Note: **Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.

**Hogwarts: **Assignment #3, Wandlore Task 5: Write about any of the known masters of the Elder Wand. (Mods okayed Voldemort/Tom Riddle)

**Warnings: **Violence (Horcrux creation process)

* * *

**Stacked with: **MC4A; Hogwarts; Harmony of Souls Eternal; Ray of Blades

**Individual Challenge(s): **Slytherin MC; Summer Vacation; Beastly Times; Old Shoes; Themes & Things A (Travel); Themes & Things B (Deception); Rian-Russo Inversion; Short Jog; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux

**Representation(s): **Second World War; young Riddle

**Bonus Challenge(s): **In the Trench; Second Verse (Bandstand); Chorus (Not a Lamp)

**Tertiary Bonus Challenge(s): **Keen

**Word Count: **1781

* * *

**The First Step **

Slipping out of that idiotic Ministry-imposed trace had been easy, once he had dissected the basic enchantments that formed it. Casting a Confundus charm on Mrs. Cole and the other idiots bumbling around Wools Orphanage to ensure a simple, straightforward escape had been even simpler. Perhaps casting a tracking spell on a target he had never seen before would have been difficult, but he had a solid plan supported by months of research in Hogwarts' library—yes, Tom had been waiting a long time for this.

His search had led him to Edinburgh. He followed his tracking charm by slipping onto trains, conjuring false bus tickets, and confunding Muggles with automobiles when he saw them. He was on his way home from school to stay with his grandfather on a farm, he would tell anybody who asked. They believed him, and pitied them when he claimed that he was journeying alone because his father had gone off to that war the Muggles were upsetting themselves with. In a small village, a war widow even invited Tom to spend the night in her family home, promising him a meal and the company of her own sons, too.

His trip took about two weeks, all things considered. Longer than expected and desired, but the tracking charm was finicky and Tom wanted to make sure that he was moving carefully and methodically. Finding himself in the largest city in Scotland was not unexpected—it was only logical that his chances of finding a soulmate were higher in a densely populated area. Some people waited for the world to bring their soulmates to them. There was even old magic in place that stopped one from aging at the age of eighteen to ensure that one didn't live out their lives without their soulmates—but Tom didn't have time to wait for some chance encounter in a coffee shop or whatever it was that was romantic nowadays.

It did get harder to find out where exactly in the city they were, however. The fact that the Muggle world was currently consuming itself through its war effort had emptied the city somewhat and quieted down the dull roar of everyday Muggle life, but Edinburgh was big.

Early on in his travels, he'd swiped a wallet off a passenger in a train and had duplicated the notes he'd found within endlessly. While he did everything he could to fit in, it meant that he did indeed manage to live and eat comfortably. He was not pressed for time in Edinburgh and could take the time that he wanted to achieve his task—and this was what he had done when his tracker had finally led him to a general store in what he thought was the poorest part of town.

The shop was run by a pear-shaped woman who wore her hair in a sensible bun and mumbled to herself in Gaelic. Tom could tell from the look of her that she was entirely sensible: her shoes were worn, her hands were calloused, and she was obviously a hard and long-time worker. He spent days looking over the shop, which was how he gathered that her name was McLeod. But really, the person he was interested in was her daughter—well, the eldest. And her name was Maria.

Maria McLeod had long brown curls that she wore loose down her back, though part of it was always held up with a red ribbon. She was beautiful, Tom saw that the first time he laid his eyes on her even if it was through the shop glass. Since it was summer and school was out, she spent her days behind the counter working for her mother. She did inventory, counted the float, categorized the ration cards Muggles brought in, put packages together for home deliveries whistled a lot… Occasionally another McLeod child would join her behind the counter and she would invent games for them to play with buttons and spare shoelaces and other things from the stock. When she wasn't working, Tom saw her write in a notebook in tiny, tiny handwriting. He took the time to observe the shop properly, to make sure that he had tracked his soulmate properly. When he was sure that he had, he went in to buy the most inconspicuous thing he could think of.

"Sugar, yes!" Maria said pleasantly. "Do you have your ration card?"

Tom bit back a cuss. Bloody war…

"I forgot it," he said.

"Sorry," she said with a sympathetic smile. "I'd love to do you a favour, but the authorities been cracking down on those."

"That's okay," he said. "These new regulations must be more of a bother for you than anything…"

Maria shrugged. "I don't mind, if it means that the men are getting what they need out there… My dad's in the army, and my brother too."

"My dad has been in France since January," Tom offered.

"So you know what it's like," Maria smiled.

"I do," Tom promised. Her eyes softened when he said it—they were the same nutty brown as the wood of his wand. They even seemed to shimmer. That's how he knew that she believed his claim. "My name's Tom."

"Maria," she smiled. "I don't think I've seen you around."

"I'm new here," he said. "I was supposed to stay with an uncle while Dad was away, but I was told he'd left town. Luckily I found a place to board, doing chores and so on until school starts again."

"Well, welcome," Maria smiled. "If you're new, you should come to the church tonight. There's swing dancing in the basement every Wednesday—free of charge, though there's a collection box there for the war effort... Do you dance, Tom?"

"I do," he smiled. "I would love to join you."

"Perfect," Maria said, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. Her smile was brilliant. "I'll make sure to wear my nice dress, then."

When he turned up in the church basement, Tom found out that her nice dress was yellow and dotted with flowers. Maria McLeod smiled when she saw that he had come and left the gaggle of girls she'd arrived with to come greet him.

Tom was a fair dancer—no showstopper, but the girls seemed to like dancing with him. Partners changed quite frequently throughout the night as the music went on, but he did try to circle back to Maria as much as he could. He was happy to see that she gravitated towards him as well. Her charming smile and warm personae became ebullient as she danced; she was graceful, quick, energetic, and he didn't think he'd ever seen someone look happier doing something so banal.

At the end of the night, he did his best to find his way back to her through the crowd. She was arguing with another girl who wore her blond hair in plaits, tearing her hands away.

"He's a good boy, he works in the summer but goes to school," Maria said. "I'll be fine!"

The argument stopped when they saw him approach and froze. Tom inclined his head.

"Miss McLeod, I was wondering if I could escort you home," he said courteously.

"I would be very thankful," Maria said with that brilliant smile again. The blonde girl gave Tom a dark eye as he offered his arm to Maria. She took it, and they left the church basement and plunged back into the streets of Edinburgh. They made small talk once more and as he had every time Maria McLeod had opened her mouth to speak, Tom made sure to absorb every single word she said; listening intently without appearing analytic to her.

"I like you," Maria said. "Let's… let's go around the block one more time. I want to hear about you."

"I wouldn't want to talk about myself when you're that much more interesting," Tom said. But he did bring her around the block once more, just to make sure that they were alone and that the other dancing teenagers were tucked away and off the streets. Besides, it was worth making sure that he had heard and learned everything that he needed from her.

By the time they were in front of the shop again, Tom was sure that he had heard enough. He had a rather clear portrait of Maria McLeod—her love for dancing and jazz music, for scribbling song lyrics she made up in her little journal, the way she found it soothing to weigh out bulk ingredients and products at the shop…

"I wouldn't want to keep you out much later," he told Maria. "Your mother will worry."

"Of course," Maria said, looking back to the flat above the shop where her family lived. She turned back to look at him. "This was nice."

"It was," Tom nodded politely.

"Really? Good! I mean, I'm glad you had a good time," Maria said, genuinely happy.

"I did," Tom said. "Perhaps I'll see you again next week..."

"I'll be seeing you well before that, Mr Riddle," she said with a teasing smile. "You have to come back for your sugar."

"How could I forget?" Tom said. He forced a smile. "Good night, Miss McLeod."

Maria offered him one last smile and hesitated before kissing his cheek. Then, she walked back up to the shop door.

Tom raised his wand, aimed it square at her back, and cast his curse. She crumpled on the threshold of the shop before she'd even reached for her keys.

Muggle. That was what he had learned about Maria McLeod through all this observation and confirmed by speaking with her. He had hoped at first that she was perhaps a half-blood like himself since he hadn't observed the slightest thing about his father, then he had wondered if she was perhaps a Muggleborn—she wouldn't be a Hogwarts student, naturally, but there were other wizarding schools out there that weren't complete farces... But no. She was Muggle.

Part of Tom couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that his soulmate was a Muggle—that somehow he had been destined to pair with such filth.

Then again, it had made disposing of her much simpler. It had been relatively easy to do, actually. And in the grand scheme of things, since disposing of her was nonnegotiable, perhaps this was a strange blessing, in some way. A sign from the universe that he was on the right path to creating his first Horcrux. It had, after all, been so easy to kill his soulmate to redirect the magic that would have kept him young into his grand scheme.

That was, as the books had told him, the first step toward these wondrous creations.


End file.
